


Circumstances

by micehell



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M, PWP-ish, nonconsensual situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-03
Updated: 2005-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circumstances aren't what he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumstances

Obi-Wan stroked his hand down his length, running his fingers along the veins underneath. No reaction.

He licked his finger, then ran it around the head, along the slit. Moisture, pressure, friction.  No reaction.

A twist at the top of his strokes, a firm grip down, then another twist, with tugs on his balls in an alternating rhythm.  No reaction.

“To get the medicine you need, you must actually come. I want to see your pleasure, not this… performance.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look at the man who had spoken, but he knew what he’d see if he did. Nearly 3 meters of muscle and bone, thatches of coarse hair covering rough, blue skin, all of it on display.  The erection he’d be rubbing was of a size to match, making Obi-Wan grateful that his price for the medicine hadn’t been something else. Not even for his master would he have been able to accommodate that.

His master. Who hadn’t even wanted to come to this Sith-begotten planet, hadn’t believed they would find anyone who would actually honor any agreement they might reach.  But the Council had insisted.  Obi-Wan had insisted, wanting his wayward master to, for once, do exactly as the Council asked.

And now here they were.  The Council out of reach, his master sick, and the only source of the cure a man who wanted something other than Republic currency in return for his product.

The sight of his pleasure, except that he had none in this situation. He had only worry for his master and disgust for himself, that he could find no better course of action than this.

“It would be a shame to have come this far, and yet not to get what you seek, don’t you think?”

Yes, a shame, far greater to him than the shame of what he was doing. And he was a Jedi; he could control himself even if he couldn’t control the circumstances.

He brought his master to mind, imagining _his large frame, large hands, large cock. All of him beautifully built, and lying beside Obi-Wan on his bed at home.  They were naked and happy, and Qui-Gon reached out one of his large hands and stroked it along Obi-Wan’s cock._

Obi-Wan stroked his hand down his length, running his fingers along the veins underneath. He felt his cock stir, filling, hardening.

 _Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan on his back, trailing kisses down face, neck, chest._ The man grunted- no… _he ran a finger around Obi-Wan’s lips, pushing it into the eager mouth._

Obi-Wan licked his finger, then ran it around the head, along the slit. Moisture, pressure, friction.  His fully-erect cock twitched with the sensation.

 _Qui-Gon took a firm grip on Obi-Wan’s cock, pumping steadily,_ the slap of his flesh against flesh audible- no… _giving little twists at each end.  His other hand cupped Obi-Wan’s balls, rolling them, tugging them, causing the cock to harden further, and the balls to pull up._

Obi-Wan gave a twist at the top of his strokes, a firm grip down, then another twist, with tugs on his balls in an alternating rhythm.  His cock was swelling further, beads of pre-cum spilling from the head, his balls drawing up.

 _Qui-Gon sped up his strokes,_ and the man grunted, the slap of his flesh against flesh audible even over Obi-Wan’s own actions. “You are beautiful in your need.  Well worth the price of some medicine.”

Obi-Wan tried to drown him out, not wanting the reality of what he was doing to intrude upon his fantasy, but it was too late now, and he couldn’t stop, and he came with the sound of the wrong man’s moans in his ears.

Body spent, emotions spent, medicine bought, Obi-Wan sped back to his master. The memory of what he’d done, what he’d been compelled to do, was pushed back, hidden away.  The fantasy of his master was lovingly stored, as had been all the others, to be brought out when the reality of living with Qui-Gon proved too much. And provided too little.

/story


End file.
